What makes you feel alive?
First dates. Holding hands. Forming jokes that are only ours. Memories that no one else but us has. Creating life with a man who doesn’t even know that I cannot create life, not really, and feeling the remorse churning inside me.
SEPTEMBER CAME AND WENT, AND October followed suit. Seasons bled into one another. The trees had changed, but we hadn’t. In fact, it was when the leaves started falling, dancing together in orange, pink, and yellow, that what we had grown together became stronger and more alive.
Dean and I fell into a routine. It wasn’t flawless, but I learned at a very young age that nothing was. Even if it seemed so from the outside.
We spent every waking, available moment together.
When he was at work and I didn’t have a shift at The Black Hole, I came to see him. We would always lock the door to his office and close the electric blinds. Sometimes, it would be enough to hide what we were doing there. Mostly, though, I walked out with cheeks the color of beetroot and watched the whole floor judging me with their gazes as I fixed my hair and covered my stubble-scratched neck with my hand.
Sue, especially, would look at me like I sacrificed innocent babies for a living.
One time, I came in wearing a thick coat and nothing else. When he slipped the coat off of me, he was so happy to find me naked, he ate me on his desk for forty minutes and missed his Skype meeting with the rest of the HotHoles. He did scold me right after for not wearing clothes.
“You could get sick.” He bit my ass cheek—and not softly. “Stop fucking with what’s mine and wear a goddamn sweater.”
When I did have shifts, we tried to do lunches together. Sometimes he would drop by unannounced, sit at the bar, ask for an Americano, and pretend like we didn’t know each other. Especially if there were other customers around, we would play a game where he hit on me by dirty-talking his way to a quiet orgasm that came in pleasant chills. It always made the person sitting next to him squirm. One man even asked me if I wanted him to call the cops on Dean.
I said yes before I declined, just to see the look on Dean’s face.
We laughed. A lot.
We cried some, too.
Well, I did all the crying. When you volunteer at a children’s hospital and work with premature newborns three times a week, sad things are bound to hit you in the face. At the end of October, we had lost a newborn. A baby girl named Kayla. She was tiny, born at twenty-four weeks yet wrinkly as a hundred-year-old woman. I broke down in tears in the hospital hallway the night her doctor told me that she didn’t make it. When I got off from that shift, Dean was waiting for me on the other side of the road.
I collapsed into his arms and cried until I had no more tears in me, and he kissed my head and told me that if he could suck the pain out of me like venom, he would.
And I believed him. One hundred percent.
Not everything was great, though.
Dean’s phone was bombarded with Nina phone calls every single day. He never took them—ever—and was careful not to answer unidentified calls. She wasn’t a mistress, and wasn’t in the picture anymore. Those were the crumbs he’d thrown my way when I asked him about her. Anything else about Nina remained a complete mystery.
Countless times I found myself itching to pick up his phone, call, and ask her what the hell did she want and why couldn’t she leave him alone. But I didn’t. Because I was a freaking hypocrite to try to milk a truth I wasn’t ready to deliver myself.
When October rolled in, and with it the official signs of winter, Mama and Daddy got back to their nagging, but it was better than the radio silence I’d suffered through September. As far as they were concerned, I was single and alone and dying a slow, painful death. Which couldn’t be further from the truth. My health issues were under control. My lungs, along with the rest of my organs, were in good condition. Other than my heart. This one was in the hands of the man who had once broken it, and I had no guarantee that he wouldn’t do it again.
Our Todos Santos crowd and friends knew about Dean and me. First, there was the Facebook relationship thing that got people talking, and then—there was the fact that the HotHoles knew almost everything about one another.
Millie was happy for me. Vicious was indifferent—as he was toward everything else—Jaime and Mel were wary but glad for us, and Trent, who still lived in Chicago with Luna, didn’t give a damn because he had more urgent matters to deal with.
Dean never answered Nina, but sometimes, he would still drink when her name or number showed up on his screen (he said there was no point changing his number. She always found out what it was, somehow.) When I asked him why he didn’t have her arrested, he said it was complicated.
I hated when he drank, but it didn’t happen more than once every two weeks or so. When it did, I had to humor him all the way down to the pit of hell and drag him back into the light once he was done. I bowed down and let him use me like a pawn. Perhaps ‘use’ was not the most accurate term for what we were doing. I enjoyed his evil version as much as I enjoyed sweet lovemaking in front of the TV, carton takeout boxes decorating the floor beneath us.
I enjoyed it when he spanked me. I enjoyed it when he fucked my mouth with his cock until tears ran down my cheeks. I did not complain when he angrily took me in a dark alleyway behind Madison Square Garden and fucked me against a brick wall that made my back look like it had been scrubbed with sandpaper.
The night before Thanksgiving, we were going to grab dinner at a diner across from The Black Hole. Or so I thought.
I was jogging my way across the road in my thick, black hoodie and wool hat—it wasn’t anywhere near freezing, but I always kept myself covered just in case—and slipped into a red vinyl booth, placing a little brown paper bag on the table, containing Dean’s favorite chocolate chip cookies I got him hooked on, the ones Elle kept begging me to stop eating so I wouldn’t balloon. And now, ironically, not only did I eat them all the time, but my boyfriend was wolfing them down, too.
I waited for fifteen minutes before I texted to see where he was. Dean was always late, but never by more than a few minutes.
Rosie
Sirius to Earth, are you coming or what?
Dean
I am. On your face. Tonight. BOOM.
Rosie
Cute. Where are you?
Dean
Right here.
Rosie
Where is here?
Dean
In front of the diner. In a taxi. Waiting for you.
Rosie
?
Dean
Shit, I forgot to tell you I’m not hungry. So I thought we could skip dinner and just fly out to Todos Santos to tell our parents that we’re moving in together. Oh, and dating and shit. Happy Thanksgiving.
Rosie
??
Dean
Come out.
Rosie
???
Dean
Now, Baby LeBlanc. I got places to go, people to see, a pussy to eat on our way to the airport.
Rosie
NO.
Dean
Too late, I already asked for a limo with a divider and tinted windows.
I didn’t mean the oral. I meant the surprise trip across the country.
I looked out.
He wasn’t kidding.
There really was a tinted-windowed limo.
This man was born to be my downfall.
What the hell, God? Was cystic fibrosis not enough for you?
Making my way across the road, I narrowed my eyes when Dean stepped out of the vehicle and opened the door for me, exaggerating a bow.
“Miss LeBlanc.”
“Mr. Batshit Crazy.” I gave him a slight nod, tucking myself into the black vehicle. Inside, there were champagne and two glasses, plush beige leather seats, and one grinning, gorgeous boyfriend still dressed in his work suit. I could get used to it, I thought. Which was why I had to tell him everything about what Dr. Hasting had told me. Already, I was being dishonest by not disclosing my fertility situation.
Dean poured me a glass of champagne and pushed the button of the divider, handing me my drink. He, himself, sipped bottled water.
“So,” he licked his lips and tugged at my wool hat, exposing my hair and tossing it aside, “you think your parents are going to like me?” he joked.
My parents already knew him. Worse, they were well aware that he had dated my sister. I wasn’t particularly hot on telling them about Dean and me. Knew they would jump on the opportunity to criticize me for this, too. But at the same time, I didn’t want to let them stand in my way of happiness.
“Honestly?” I took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ll be against us.”
“I don’t give a shit.” He crossed his long legs, entwining his fingers together, nonchalant. “Do you?”
I shook my head, realizing that making them proud was something I had given up on long ago. It’d been sealed and finalized during the week we spent in Todos Santos, but had been going on even before that.
“I need to stop by our building to grab my medicine and vest.” I rummaged through my bag to make sure my inhaler was there.
“No need.” He placed a hand over mine. “Got everything packed for you, baby. Pills, inhalers, nebulizer, vest. Other than packing a new set of lungs, you have everything you need here. Working on the latter, but the black market is slow these days.”
I looked up and grinned. “You are not going to like what I’m about to say,” I told him, and he frowned in a way that was completely extravagant to show me that he was already irritated.
“I don’t think you can eat me in here. You’re way too tall to pull this off. Even in this big limo.”
“I find challenges refreshing. They keep me young.” He loosened his tie and pulled the fabric of his dress pants over his knees, preparing to dive down. I stopped him with a hand on his lightly stubbled cheek.
“I’m also wearing really tight jeans.”
“I’ve been known to rip apart things that stood between me and your pussy, and I’ll be damned if twenty-dollar ASOS denim are going to deprive me of your pussy, love.”
Love. We still hadn’t said those words to one another, and not because we hadn’t felt them. We were both new to this feeling. To this life.
I pressed my forefinger to his lips and leaned into his face. “But I can go down on you.”
His eyes followed me dutifully as I sank down below him, my face leveled with his groin. If I was being honest, this part of our relationship was one of my favorite things about us. The deprived lust that sizzled between us. Like nothing was ever enough. Like doing dirty things in public places was a necessity, rather than something we needed to do to spice things up. Because with Dean Cole, you didn’t need any extra spices. He was already hot as hell.
I reached for his dress pants and took him out. His cock was half-mast, just like his smirk as he brushed some of my wild hair away from my face.
“Sometimes, when I think about how we could have been together all those years if you weren’t so fucking stubborn, I want to shoot you in the eye with my super sperm. You know that?”
I licked my lips, still holding his junk, feeling it swelling between my fingers as more blood rushed to it. “That’s the most disgusting compliment I’ve ever received,” I admitted.
“Maybe it’s because you didn’t strip it down to the meaning of its naked bones. You were always the one, Rosie. Before you even opened your goddamn mouth, I knew that I had to have you. And it took me a long time, but now that I own you—and let there be no mistakes, you’re mine, baby—nothing will come between us, get it?”
Best pep talk to a woman facing a huge one-eyed monster that was staring at her, waiting to be sucked. I leaned forward and licked the crown of his cock, screwing my tongue into the little slit before taking him all in. He jerked his hips forward and his head back, hissing through his pearly white teeth. “Holy fuck, Rosie.”
“Holy fuck and Rosie are synonyms. Save words. Only use one.” I served him the same sass he gave me just a couple months ago, and he laughed, a tortured kind of laugh from a brooding millionaire who had his dick inside the mouth of a sick, poor girl on their way to the airport.
He didn’t hold my hair and guide me like he usually did. Instead, Dean watched in a mixture of awe and fascination as I worked my magic on him, sucking him off with tender lips, giving him the love and devotion he deserved for being the best boyfriend a girl could have. Because he was. Everything I didn’t even know I could have.
I’m worthy.
I’m a catch.
And I’m about to show the world what a handsome, successful, funny, and smart man I’ve bagged.
After ten minutes of nonstop TLC to Dean’s cock, I heard him moan. “Shit, baby, I’m about to come.”
I massaged his thighs, giving him silent permission to do so in my mouth, and he sucked in a breath before wrapping his fingers around his shaft and milking his cum into my mouth. After he was done, I righted my spine and plopped on his lap. He kissed me on the lips, then nuzzled into my chest.
“That blowjob needs to go into the history books, Baby LeBlanc.”
“God, I’m glad you’re not the man in charge of our national education system.”
By the time we landed in San Diego and got to Todos Santos, it was the middle of the night between Friday and Saturday.
We went straight to bed and crashed in my room, burrowing into each other’s warmth. I slept with a smile on my face, knowing that I was about to see my sister. Emilia was showing—she sent me weekly pictures—and I couldn’t wait to stroke that Buddha belly and coo at it like the crazy aunt that I was.
True, Mama and Daddy were going to be a struggle, but all in all, my joy for my sister overrode the occasional bumping heads with my parents.
In the morning, I wandered out to the hallway, still in my PJs. Last night the housekeeper, Anna, opened the door for us, so I wasn’t even sure if my family was expecting me. I found out the answer to that question when I walked into the kitchen and saw Mama and Daddy reading newspapers at the table, drinking their coffee.
Mama lifted her head from her magazine. Daddy didn’t. Neither one of them looked surprised to see me.
Mama wanted to rush and squeeze me to her chest, her body leaping forward, but Daddy put his hand on the table in a silent gesture that advised against it. He reminded her that I had to be punished for my disobedience.
“Sit, Rose,” she said instead, her voice sad. Every cell in my brain begged me to protest, but this was not how I wanted our visit to go down. I grabbed a chair at the far end of the table and laced my fingers together. My parents and I had been distant but civil over the past three months. We texted a lot. Mostly health-related stuff and quick updates about my life. They sometimes called to remind me to wish a relative a happy birthday or to pick up Millie’s mail from our old apartment or ask when I was going to come back, but that was the extent of it.
“I think we should talk—” I started, but Mama cut me off.
“Kathy from my knitting club saw you on that Facebook website the other day. Called and talked my ear off, she did. Said she had some interesting news to share. Why, Rose LeBlanc, out of all the men in Manhattan—out of all the men in the world—you have your eye set on the one your sister had dated!”
“Good morning.” Said sister breezed into the kitchen, flipping her lavender hair off of her shoulder. “I smelled food so I came to eat it all.” Millie chuckled, but everyone else in the kitchen looked ready to roll on the floor in a punch-fight.
“Not in the mood for humor? Well, I guess I’ll join the funeral.” Millie plucked a carton of coconut water from the fridge and took big gulps, rubbing her belly.
It’d been ten minutes since I woke up, and already I had my dose of drama for the whole weekend. Millie wore a long dress the color of honey with no shape and fringes at the bottom, and her long hair danced around her shoulders. She looked like a fairy. A very pregnant one at that. Her belly was the size of a watermelon. How many babies did she have in there? She kept me posted, so I knew it was just the one. At five months she looked like the bun in her oven was baking pretty nicely.
I jumped from my chair, emptying my arsenal of affection, kisses, and hugs on the one person in my family who actually accepted them. Millie pulled away, smoothed my hair, and crinkled her nose. “Did I arrive five minutes too late?”
“Thirty seconds, but the bomb has already dropped.” I sighed. My sister gave me that look, a mixture of an eye roll and a knowing smile, reminding me that it was the same old story, different day.
“Mama, Daddy.” Millie motioned for me to get back to my seat, grabbing her own chair and plopping down. “You need to hear us out. I’m done seeing Rosie get hurt.”
“Oh?” Mama folded her arms. Daddy still pretended to be reading from the newspaper, but his eyes weren’t moving. It made me want to throw something at him. Scream. Yell at him that he had no right to be mad. That I was the one who had felt abandoned and discarded. That for someone who wanted me around all the time, he had a funny way of showing it. He mourned a daughter who hadn’t even died yet, but he wouldn’t let her love him.
“Your mama doesn’t need time. She needs a healthy daughter.”
I wondered what kind of daughter he referred to. One who wouldn’t follow her dreams, perhaps? One who would bow down and do whatever it was he wanted her to do with her precious time left in this world? Not that I couldn’t see where my family was coming from. It was heartbreaking, I’m sure, to watch your sick kid making a life somewhere else. But that was what my parents hadn’t realized.
New York wasn’t about New York. It was about independence.
It was about doing what I wanted to do, experiencing life out of the bubble my parents had created for me. Most of all, it was about finding out who I was without people dictating it for me.
“Rosie’s boyfriend, Dean Cole, called Baron yesterday, telling him they wanted to come here and announce their relationship.” Millie took my hand and smiled, that type of smile that lit up the room and the one next to it. “It’s Thanksgiving, and we have so much to be thankful for. I have a baby coming soon, and Rosie is happy and doing so well health-wise. We wanted to celebrate together. I’m sure you remember Dean and I used to date in high school. I’m also certain you remember how it ended. Briefly. Tragically. But, as you may recall, not heartbreakingly.”
Millie rubbed circles on my back, trying to soothe my nerves away. I was legit too nervous to breathe.
“I don’t want to dwell on the past, but I do find it important to say one thing to make sure our future is brighter: Baron and I were always meant to be together. Everyone knew that. Everyone…but us. As for Dean and Rosie?” She sighed, shaking her head, the sorrow seeping from her expression. Millie knew how much it hurt me, us, and wished she could take it back. “Mama, Daddy, they were crazy for one another from day one. I hadn’t noticed, because I was too busy being a selfish teenager, but there is no way I am hurt or annoyed by their relationship. Just look at her.” She flipped my hair and grinned. “She is glowing. And when she is happy, we should all be happy. Do I look dejected in any way?” She cradled her tummy and laughed, and I laughed with her, not because I was feeling relieved or optimistic, but because my sister was the definition of health, and even if I wasn’t, I liked that what I would leave behind was safe and whole.
Emilia was both.
Daddy finally lifted his eyes from the paper. “Is that true, Rose? Did you always love Dean Cole?”
I couldn’t read his tone. Was it serious? Sad? Disappointed? Pleased? Did he think I was an idiot for loving a man who wasn’t mine to love, or did he appreciate the sacrifice I had made for my sister all those years ago?
“Always.” I blushed, looking down to my knotted fingers. “I’ve always loved him.”
And it was the uncomfortable truth no one wanted to hear. No one but the man who didn’t know it. Dean himself.
My father pushed himself away from the table, hands on his waist, looking ready for another argument.
“Is he taking care of you? We need to know.”
Jesus Christ. Either my dad was the biggest caveman to walk on Earth in the twenty-first century or he really thought I was a useless sack of bones. He trusted Emilia with my life when we lived together. He trusted Darren without even meeting him. But me? Nah. He’d put his faith in a crusty pair of underwear before he believed in me, so it seemed.
Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, I offered a small nod.
“Yes, Daddy. He looks after me.” My jaw moved back and forth, every feminist cell in my body demanding I would put him in his place.
“Are you sure?”
“He packed my medicine and my supplies for me before we arrived here.” Biting my tongue to prevent myself from lashing out, I continued. “He sends me a taxi three times a week so I won’t miss my physiotherapy sessions. And comes with me to Dr. Hasting when he has the time.”
“When he has the time.” Daddy snorted, shaking his head. “Of course.”
“Paul,” my mother warned, looking down at the table.
“Yes, fine. I’m willing to talk to this man, but it changes nothing, Rose. We still want you here in Todos Santos. If you want your mama and me to stand behind you while you’re…doing whatever it is you’re doing in New York,” he waved his hand dismissively, but for the first time in the weeks since I’d visited here, didn’t look at me like I was unworthy of his time, “you gotta make some promises and changes to set our minds at ease. Because you are sick, Rosie-bug. And we’re worried. Everything we want and ask from you—is for your own benefit.”
Rosie-bug. Choking on my tears, I nodded.
Mama rolled her eyes. “Now can I please get a hug? This mama’s been missing her little girl.”
“And this future mama needs Rosie to make her kick-ass chocolate chip cookies,” Millie cooed, pinching my cheek and laughing.
I thought the worst part was behind me that morning.
I was wrong.